


Brick

by amorekay



Series: Never Shook Our Shadows [2]
Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/pseuds/amorekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Liebgott grips him, distant and angry, and something spikes in his blood. “Don’t need you to keep me in line,” he declares, a half-hearted shrug against Liebgott’s grip. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” He snaps. “You sure looked like you had the upper hand there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brick

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt 'fistfights'

The air knocked out of him for a brief jolt, like everything freezing in time, his body at a stalemate. Then his senses return and the pain blossoms - a sharp crack to the back of his head and pain hugging the stretch of his ribs. “The fuck,” he coughs out after his first new breath. A fist connects with the side of his face. Half-assed punch, he thinks with a smirk, but he wipes the corner of his eye as sweat mingles with new stinging tears from the blow. 

Then there’s a crash and the table nearby is groaning under the weight of the man thrown against it. “What the fucking hell,” Liebgott spits out, staring between the man he wrenched away from the fight and Snafu. 

“Hey,” Snafu says, lazily. “I had this one covered.” He spits to the side, and can’t tell if his lip is bruised or split open. Liebgott takes one look at him and hauls him up by the shoulders. He’s got this angry set to his jaw that makes Snafu grin, feeling frustrated or amused, he’s not sure. “I ain’t sure I want to leave yet,” he reminds him. 

“The fuck you’re not,” Liebgott snaps. He drags him toward the door of the bar before Snafu can struggle. He’s clumsy on his feet, still woozy from his head cracking against the wood paneling, still more drunk than sober. 

It reminds him of when Liebgott came and bailed him out of jail — a man he barely knew, just a customer who had paid him nothing but the cab fare and shared a shitty talk in a shittier diner, and Liebgott’d come and paid his bail. Snafu thought he was crazy like some of them war boys got. He hadn’t been in the Pacific, hadn’t seen that hell, but he’d been in war. He’d seen something. And outside the jail in an alleyway, they’d fought — hard pushes and bodies pressing and pulling against each other until Snafu had suggested they get a hotel, lewd and cruel, hoping to hurt. And Liebgott, Asiatic crazy, had agreed. 

Now Liebgott grips him, distant and angry, and something spikes in his blood. “Don’t need you to keep me in line,” he declares, a half-hearted shrug against Liebgott’s grip. Liebgott’s hands just tighten. “Yeah?” He snaps. “You sure looked like you had the upper hand there.” 

And then he laughs, and Snafu laughs with him, because fucking hell, he sure did knock his head hard. “Sure I did,” he says, grinning. “I could take you any day.” 

And something ripples and shifts in Liebgott’s expression as he glances sideways at him, and then he’s got him back against the rough brick of the building, pressing his body into the shadows, his hands flitting from Snafu’s shoulders to the wall framing his face. Snafu presses forward, grin turned sharp. 

The door of the bar bangs open and someone stumbles out, heavy boots hitting against the pavement and knees following. Liebgott tugs Snafu away from the wall and says, loudly enough for the three of them, “Why do I keep saving your ass?”

Snafu just laughs, long and low.


End file.
